Fall from the Vessel
by FikFik747
Summary: A retelling of Thomas' plunge from the decks of the ship and into the cold, heartless sea.


As can be easily determined, I do not own Pocahontas, for if I did, Thomas would play a far greater role, and the movie would most certianly not be rated G.

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"Faster! She's taking on more water!" The yell from across the boat sounded far too obvious for any attention to be paid to it, yet each of the sailors in earshot visibly hastened their pace.

Another lightening bolt cracked from the heavens, blackened with anger, and jolted the sea around it. Sparks flew from the water and fish floated to the tops of the waves. Their dead presence would have terrified the English had the men known how close they stood from lying belly down in the salty water.

"Look out!" A veteran sailor sought a tight hold on a slickened rope as he heeded his own order. Just a heartbeat after his words, a wall of water, seemingly taller than the masts, fell upon the ship, running across the tar-cocked boards, swiping the feet from beneath countless men.

Just a half dozen feet from the edge of the ship, Thomas threw himself across a cannon, desperately begging it not to snap its tethering to the vessel. He grunted as the line pulled strenuously and his own muscles veined with overuse. "John!" he cupped a hand round his mouth and his voice strained to reach the upper tiers of the sails, "Get down here! The cannons are breaking loose!" His hand flew back to the cannon as it slid further on its wheels.

The ship tilted while a wave mustered itself beneath her; Thomas wedged his feet against the planks, as the full weight of the weapon fought to run across the deck and topple from the ship. A sob of exhaustion fell from his lips and thunder rung in his ears. "Where are you, John?" Thomas muttered; the ship twisted again, pushing both Thomas and the cannon further into the stormy air. The thinning line finally gave way and Thomas, along with the cannon, plunged across the deck with stinging rain falling about them.

Just as he resigned himself to death beneath the heavy weight of the cannon, some heavenly force ended their fall. The ship righted itself again.

"Steady on the course," John's firm voice breathed relief into Thomas's soul, "It's alright, Thomas," he continued. His voice softened for the lad, "We'll get her tied off."

Though his heart still thudded with an erratic relentlessness, Thomas nodded confidently. The pair pushed the cannon back closer to the rail; John braved the gap between them and lunged for the rope, squirming uselessly on the rivleted deck.

"Look out!"

Thomas could not help but glance behind a shoulder and his mouth gaped in fear. Another wave threatened the ship's life. He pulled the cannon nearer to the ship's side, and John reached for its muzzle, but stopped short.

"Thomas, watch out!" Smith yelled as the explorer wrenched the thick rope about his forearm.

The lad sprawled across the cannon, groping with his hands for some outcropping or means of leverage. His fingertips discovered the base of the weapon, but the wave found him first.

Its power astonished Thomas; the current pulled his heels from the floor and his arms felt as if they would wring from his shoulders. The cold Atlantic poured across his back and dislodged his grip. He grappled for the hard metal, but the ocean, in far too much of a hurry to return to its home, wouldn't allow him. It pulled him across the ship; he glimpsed the horror upon John's face for only a moment before a thick pain beat across his back with a snap and the ship's railing gave way beneath him.

"Help!" Thomas screamed for his life as his stomach felt trapped in his throat as he fell. He landed against the freezing water with a gasp and tumbled into the darkness. His mouth filled with water, bitter and choking; he wheeled his arms and legs, fighting to keep his head above water.

"Man overboard!" A faint cry from the ship.

"Help!" Thomas called again, "Help!" his voice feebled and he fell back into the depths. No thoughts crossed his mind as he spun slowly under the surface. His eyes caught the tail of the ship, hundreds of meters away it seemed, through the murky sea before his gaze spotted.

He kicked with his legs and his fingers brushed air, but the fuming storm pushed him further closer to his death. A constant roaring filled his ears, accented by the thunder from the sky. Almost mockingly, the ocean drew him to the surface, and he flimsily filled his lungs. His head bobbed upon the veil of the sea only a heartbeat longer before another wrathful surge snatched him away. His eyelids closed and his clothing billowed in the water as he twirled downward.

Something gripped his waist, almost painfully, but he couldn't find the strength to combat it. The force seemed to drag him further into the sea and a sharp pop smacked his ears; his eyes drifted open, but he only glimpsed a dull glow from a round of lightening.

Suddenly, a tug lashed his neck and his head fell against a solid form. The tugging increased, both in ferocity and pacing. Upwards to the surging curls Thomas rose, until he breached the surface. The thing about his waist gripped tighter as his water-drenched shirt slid against his stomach.

The waves, as if they were kittens, batted at his feet, urging him to stay with them forever. His knees knocked against one another painfully, but abruptly, they stopped. Thomas' head fell against the form at his back again, and his eyelids opened to show him the ocean sprawling beneath him, furthering the distance with each short tug.

"Pull! Pull!" the words seemed far from him while water dripped from Thomas' ears.

"Hang on!" another yell. The voice sounded familiar with its Highland drawl. Another powerful yank pulled him upward.

Thomas yelped as he found himself toppling over a sturdy half wall and crumpled upon a puddled wooden deck. He gasped for breath and coughed water from his lungs as his fingers brushed across the planks.

"There, me lucky lad," Ben's words drew a sigh from Thomas.

"Well, that was refreshing," John spoke, just to his left. Thomas' green eyes looked to the man, drenched as much as himself. A rope sat around the man's waist.

He saved me, the thought formed in the lad's mind as Smith plopped Thomas' olive hat atop his locks. With arms and legs trembling from exhaustion and fear, Thomas pushed himself to his knees; he felt a blanket draped across his quivering shoulders.

"Trouble on deck?" a crash of thunder accompanied the words.

Thomas gripped hold of the corners of the blanket and stumbled to his feet, "Governor Ratcliffe," he breathed and lowered his gaze to the deck. His cheeks flushed with self pity

"Thomas fell overboard, sir," Smith answered, unabashed. He clapped a hand upon the lad's shoulder and sent him a reassuring grin.

Ratcliffe regarded the two with a half-lidded stare, "Thank heavens he's been successfully retrieved." His words lack the tone of sincerity, "Well done, Smith."

"Thank you, sir," John replied. He squeezed Thomas shoulder a moment longer before relinquishing his grip. He nodded to the lad modestly once Ratcliffe left earshot, "You did a good job out there."

Thomas' brow furrowed in confusion. He tasted salt water upon his lips as he answered, "Doing what, drowning?"

John shook his head, his blue eyes looking to the lightening sky, "No, making me look good."


End file.
